


I Was Made For Lovin' You

by ukenceto



Series: Love beyond the bones [2]
Category: Gears of War (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Straight Razors, do i need to say more :D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukenceto/pseuds/ukenceto
Summary: A classic trope: that straight razor scene, or Marcus gets hurt and Baird's willing to help him out with something mundane, suddenly turned anything but...(set some months after the events of GOW1)
Relationships: Damon Baird/Marcus Fenix
Series: Love beyond the bones [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1025247
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	I Was Made For Lovin' You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SugarRayRocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarRayRocket/gifts).



* * *

***

The knock on the door surprises him.

It’s late, even though Baird’s used to pulling long hours over his ‘hobby’ – fixing up stuff during the only downtime he has, not for anyone else but the challenge itself, or even just the simply mechanical action of taking something apart and putting it back together. Not tonight however, since they’d all just come back from a mission which had turned out to be a total shitshow; in the full and unbiased meaning of the word.

Coming from him, that meant a lot, since in his thirteen years of experience on the battlefield, Damon Baird had been through plenty of beyond-knee deep sort of situations.

It was over, finally, after a grueling amount of hours squeezed in, and occasionally under, a truck that leaked grease and fuel in equal intervals, with a bunch of nearly emaciated children and the rather roughed up Delta Squad.

Their mission wasn’t something he wished to revisit any time soon, though he was certain at least part of it would return to him in the shape of night terrors.

Getting up from his cot, he grumbled under his breath and went to open the door. It wasn’t locked, since Cole was yet to return; Baird wasn’t sure of his exact whereabouts, and honestly didn’t have it in him to care right now, as long as his friend was quiet on the way back. Since Baird had planned to sleep till the next evening, preferably.

No such luck it seemed though. Still, the fact that the person behind the door hadn’t barged in on their own gave him a pause.

Nobody respected personal space around here, and Baird was well used to being interrupted even during rather… private moments, though that was quickly dealt with by flipping the bird at the intruder and keeping on, since it was on them that they didn’t know how to knock.

Baird did have the penchant to piss off people a lot, and while it had been a while since anyone had tried to do him dirty because of some verbal tussle or another, he was a tad wary at the late visit.

Grabbing the heavy wrench that was closest to him on the makeshift tool rack next to the door, he hid his hand behind his back before going for the handle.

The face which greeted him on the other side dispelled all worries about potential midnight brawl however, so he tried to subtly return the instrument at its place without giving himself off.

Marcus still wore a frown and his, as always, chillingly intense gaze now landed on Baird with a single-minded focus.

“Oh, hey there. Something the matter?” Baird said while leaning on the door, trying to sound casual. There had been a lot of heated moments between the two of them during the last mission, each man trying to do what they thought was the best for keeping everyone alive, even if in Baird’s case that included a penchant for the more risqué kind of plans.

Not that Marcus was to speak about those either, since his arm was currently in a cast, supported with a bandage that ran behind his neck. Reckless bravery, if Baird had ever seen it. Though they’d both left any possible discussion about chain of command for later, he hadn’t thought later would come so soon.

“You busy?” Marcus asked instead, not really answering Baird’s question. Still, he moved away from the door with a shrug of his shoulders, indicating that Marcus could come inside.

“Not particularly, was about to call it a night actually.” He said after a long moment, seeing how Marcus just sort of… stood in the room, seemingly trying to decide on some thought he was yet to share with Baird.

Who usually wouldn’t mind the somewhat glacial pace of Marcus’ interaction with him, but the fatigue and ache of the last few days was making him a tad more impatient and cranky than usual. Still, he didn’t wish to drive the man away either, since it was rare that the two of them got a moment alone.

Marcus took another minute of surveying the mess on Baird’s work bench. He knew better than fiddling with anything left on it though, so instead just turned to look at Baird again, who finally noticed the worn towel clutched under Marcus’ uninjured arm.

“I tried, but it sucks with my non-dominant hand.” He said with a sigh, before briefly glancing back at the table. If Baird didn’t know better, he’d say Marcus appeared almost… shy, if that was ever a word he could freely describe him with. “Dom’s already asleep, and I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind…”

Baird found himself at loss of words, for a bit. Another thing which happened rarely for him.

He watched as Marcus took out the silver blade, the intricate design on its handle worn in with use; but the razor tip was undoubtedly as sharp as it could be.

It was something he could understand, really.

For himself too, and for many others, it wasn’t just a regulation anymore. It was just what they did, day after day – keeping some sort of ritual that can be considered grounding. He personally preferred to shave in the morning, though being next to stranded in that facility for a couple of days had left all of them with a bit more than the usual 5 o’clock shade of stubble.

And Marcus, who’s just gotten his arm in a cast, was in a bit of a tough spot. Nothing he couldn’t help with, right? Since the man had come to ask him, of all people.

“Sure, yeah, I mean it’s no problem.” Realizing he sounded almost sheepish, Baird pointed at the only chair in the room, before hurrying to remove the clothes which were currently piled on it.

“Thanks.” Brevity could be a virtue, Baird thought as he went to fetch the basin, before filling it with water from the sink. He glanced at Marcus who’d sat down without another word, the towel now thrown over his shoulder; a bar of soap and the razor still in his hand.

Because, if their situation was reversed, Baird felt he would’ve made it a lot weirder by simply running his mouth with the first thing that came to mind, in some desperate attempt to diffuse a tension which maybe wasn’t even there for Marcus. Though it sure was for him, and he mentally cursed himself when he noticed his hands were shaking a bit. Definitely not the time for that.

Returning to Marcus, he carefully placed the basin on his lap, and then took the towel, soaking a part of it before bringing it up to his face. Marcus just closed his eyes, and Baird took that as his ‘go’ sign; realizing that he was holding his breath, he exhaled and lightly ran the cloth over Marcus’ jaw.

Taking up the soap next, he briefly wondered if he was expected to have something to make the foam in. He always just did it directly on himself, since it allowed to build up the density as much as he liked. Much too late for it now though, since he had no spare container anyways. Wetting up the soap as well, he passed it over Marcus’ chin, over to his sides, his upper lip; watching it make a satisfying amount of foam as it caught against the rough bristles of Marcus’ stubble.

He was glad he had no razor in his hand at that moment though, because Marcus picked it to open his eyes, his heavy gaze meeting Baird’s stare dead-on.

Still, he remained quiet, so finally Baird put the soap away and reached for the blade.

Marcus flipped the razor in his hand, giving it to Baird handle forward, like one would a knife.

Swallowing hard, he took it and stepped slightly to the side, intending to begin with Marcus’ cheek, figure out the rest from there.

Because it was one thing to do it on oneself, even for years, and an entirely different matter with someone else. Angle was all wrong and so was the feeling of it; Baird couldn’t rely on more than his eyes and hand’s reflex to know if he was going too hard or not.

Marcus hadn’t closed his eyes again, but he couldn’t allow himself to focus on that now.

“Alrighty, here we go. Don’t move and I won’t accidentally decapitate you, I promise.” He said with a smirk, and the tone he usually reserved for teasing amidst battle.

“Hmmph, you best not.” Marcus huffed, but stayed still, only briefly raising an eyebrow when Baird took a while to figure out the angle of approach.

The first stroke was easier than what he’d expected. The blade moved smoothly, and much like he’d thought, was wicked sharp. Using the towel to wipe the gathered soap, he did the next swipe, a significant portion of his brain taking the opportunity to completely torture him with the fact that Marcus Fenix’ cheekbones looked like something out of a damn museum. A marble cut to represent some illustrious warrior or another, something that should only have been a fruit of the artist’s mind, suddenly made real before him, in flesh and blood.

One could never say Baird didn’t have his poker face on though. He remembered to keep breathing, and keep his hand steady, revealing more smooth skin with each pass of the blade, until he reached the more difficult spots.

The zone around the lips, especially since he was now about to go to Marcus’ right side, the deep groves of his scars etched from his temple and down to his chin. 

Up close like this, he could see the faint indents left behind from the stitchwork, the line which split Marcus’ full upper lip; a nick he’d honestly found endearing, something his eyes kept returning to from the first time he’d been able to look at Marcus freely.

But staring at him across the table at the cafeteria, was very different from now. The current moment in which Baird literally had him at the edge of a blade, and they were alone nonetheless.

Marcus still looked at him under half-lidded eyes, seemingly content with the pace Baird took, as long as he got the job done.

The scent of carbolic soap lingered between them, and Baird suddenly found himself wanting nothing more than to bury his nose at the line where Marcus’ jaw met his neck, and just breathe; all he was, right there.

Another tremor ran through his hands, but the blade was away from Marcus’ face anyways.

“Having second thoughts?” He had no right to sound so suave, and smug considering how bizarre the situation was. Baird was doing something he’d have never thought about before, and feeling ten different ways of bothered by it, and to top all of those, it seemed like he was as transparent as a day to Marcus.

Who now leaned a bit further into the chair, his entire body relaxed; a stance Baird rarely saw on him. The tension which seemingly always shrouded his shoulders was gone, as if drained away by an invisible force.

“I can keep going. Just catching a break is all.” He looked away, making a slow movement of cleaning up the blade yet again; the smooth silver was stark against his fingertips, which were still darkened by machine oil even though he’d scrubbed them clean. There were several band aids wrapped around the various cuts he kept getting when fixing things which were surprisingly often biting back, but looking at his handiwork, he could appreciate what his hands could do yet again.

Marcus looked less tired because his face seemed fresh, even if the shadows under his eyes were darker than usual, and it was something Baird had gotten to do.

It wasn’t regulations indeed. Marcus must’ve been drawing some comfort from the act as well, even now, even by proxy.

And it wasn’t like Baird didn’t feel a bit of an ego boost, a sense of pride almost; that Marcus had trusted him enough to ask this, of him and not anybody else.

He was going to do this right. No more distractions, even if he was always a bit off to the left around Marcus. But who could blame him, really?

The next time he swiped the blade, it was a careful, calculated move. Slow, barely-there graze; he found himself counting the lines which ran over Marcus’ scar, making a mental note of how many stitches there had been.

It calmed him down, in a way, made the rest of the work go much easier. Down the tricky angle at the chin, the sides and finally the neck; Marcus tipped his head back, making sure to give Baird proper access.

And make all his earlier thoughts slam right back at him, harder than an armored truck.

He wanted to leave a chain of bruises across Marcus’ neck, a line to mark him, to fend off anyone who’d dared to as much as look his way.

Baird always were at least a tad territorial, and moments like these really held the candle out to that.

Instead, he made the long, slow slide of the blade count; a perfect line, not marring the flesh in any way. Then, he remembered he had to do that a few more times.

At least Marcus couldn’t see him from his angle, note the hunger, the want which surely showed through his features.

“Just about done.” He muttered, almost as if to himself. One last run of the blade, and he was there; noticing the bruise which bloomed on the side of Marcus’ neck, the perfect shape indicating a high-caliber round. Casing kiss, as they liked to call it.

Now and again a red-hot shell would find its way from the lancer and leave this mark on any exposed flesh; Baird knew the sting of it all too well.

And it was what finally got to him, the razor clattering as he dropped it in the metal basin, his other hand already resting on Marcus’ neck, palm stretched over it, keeping him right as he was.

Pressing his lips against the casing’s mark, Baird swiped his tongue over the skin, before teasing it with his teeth. Marcus’ surprised grunt told him he hadn’t expected that; but the fingers which gripped Baird’s blonde locks seemed more than appreciative, pulling him in briefly.

Moving his head until they were basically nose to nose, Marcus stared at him, drawing in short, hurried breaths.

They’d both been dancing around this for so long now, always there and then running off the next moment. Baird thought back on that first night, the way they’d returned from the resonator mission, absolutely drained and bruised all over; the way he and Marcus had been unable to keep their hands to themselves, squeezed in a small corridor, armor still on. A messy kiss, full of urgency and huger; the way they’d had to split not more than a moment after, CIC calling for Marcus to report, something he couldn’t ignore.

Baird had found himself almost sulking later on, thinking of the feeling of Marcus’ lips for weeks, the way he was seemingly able to light his whole body up with just a touch, or a few words; even if that meant making him mad as hell sometimes.

Or as Cole had helpfully put it, Marcus could raise his hackles like no one had for over a decade.

But they hadn’t as much as had a word about it since, despite all stolen glances and being at each other’s throats more often than not; even with how hard Baird pushed his luck sometimes.

Here they were now though.

The grip in his hair not lessening, Marcus’s lips curled just a tad, barely visible if Baird wasn’t right next to him, leaned over and propped with an arm against the chair.

He knew how that story went; after all it was the same expression that Marcus had sent his way the last time they’d ended up in a lip-lock. Smirking to himself, Baird considered this turn of events, suddenly very much grateful that he wasn’t asleep.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Gifting this work to SugarRayRocket, whose fic Ferito is one of my favorite Marcus/Baird works ♥


End file.
